


Servitude

by irlenolacroix



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - All Media Types, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gay, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Puck is very gay for Oberon honestly..., Sex mentioned, Soliloquy, Trans Boy Puck, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Two Shot, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlenolacroix/pseuds/irlenolacroix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Servant. Henchman. Concubine.<br/>Handsome. Tease. Lover.<br/>There were many names that Oberon had for Puck. The fairy boy had to like the last three the best.<br/>Falling in love with one's master is so confusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Servitude

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my best work at all (I wrote most of it backstage while I was doing crew work for--guess what!--A Midsummer Night's Dream), but I put a lot of love into trying to bring Puck to life! I also incorporated a few of my personal headcanons for him, hehe.  
> Basically I'm a huge lover of Puck helplessly pining for Oberon, trans boy Puck, and just Puck in general.  
> So that's how this little two-shot as born.

He's your superior, Puck said to himself.

He's your superior. He could literally kill you at any moment.

Puck's feet didn't crunch the leaves as they hit upon the ground. This wasn't unusual to him, and so didn't pull him from his thought.

He's your superior–your king. You live to serve him. You live to see him smiling. These thoughts–these thoughts...No, no, you shouldn't be having them, Puck thought, pushing the thoughts from his mind. He's not yours. You are his servant.

"Servant," he repeated softly to himself as he began to look up from his feet. "Thou art the servant of Oberon, whose existence he doth smile upon—provided, marry, you serve him well..." He sighed, stepping lightly over a fallen branch, touching the flower in his hand lightly with his thumb. "Well I shall serve thee, king of all fae of fell."

The flower seemed to soften a little in his hands. He was suddenly acutely aware of it. The soft petals, the purpley morning-cloud color—already a bit of its juice and nectar, now running a passionate red with love's arrow, had leaked onto his hand. It smelled good, he noted in his head as he continued slowly walking. Like dew settling on moss, sweet; and yet still it was like the color and girth of an oak tree. Powerful, yet endearing. Familiar, he thought, his tealish cheeks pricking with heat at the thought.

"Mustn't pay much mind now," he whispered to himself, reminding himself. "Foreswear the sensation, brush it from thine brow, and..." He ran a hand over his forehead. "Attend to your general duties." His gaze fell ahead again, wandering, his mind doing the same: except that his mind always returned to the same place.

Athenian man. Athenian garments. Puck shook his head to clear it. Just look for an Athenian, here, and do what Oberon told you to. Maybe that will make him happy. Even the thought of Oberon upset made the young fairy man shudder. On one hand, knowing that his master was angry or sad made Puck want to be the one to console him—however, he was often the one causing Oberon's anger; and he would never come to him for comfort anyways. The other reason...Puck could still feel the bruising around his shoulders and arms from the last time he had angered the fairy king.

His feet moved faster. The nectar of the flower wasn't as sticky as he had expected, rather it was soft and liquidy over his hand. Smooth, slippery, almost. Almost as difficult to grip as love—he chuckled as he realized it.

"Cupid doth have a penchant for metaphor, I see," he said with a little sigh, clambering up into a nearby maple. "Though it also doth undermine what heavens and hells love's oppression be, as nothing ever could be at once so sugar'd yet rancid, yet still lovely thus..." His fingers twirled the stem before he peered out over the landscape. No mortals in sight. He groaned and closed his eyes, fingering the flower's silk petals.

The petals.

Puck's eyes darted open. Oberon should be asleep soon—the fairy king rarely slept, but when he did he slept hard enough that only the most vigorous of storms could wake him, and sometimes even that didn't work. He could do the king's bidding, anoint the Athenian, run back as quickly as he could, and use what petals and sap he still had left on him to...

No. No. He shook his head, scowling at himself. It was deceitful, though normally that didn't bother Puck at all. But after all, this was Oberon. If he found out what Puck had done to him...even with whatever love Puck gave him, he was sure he would still be strangled, or worse.

"T'wouldn't ever be truly love," he muttered to himself, "and still I must know that from me Oberon doth lie above." He didn't want to believe or hear his words, but they were true. The flower's love was just that...the effects of the flower. Was it real love...? Puck squeezed the stem. Oh, Jove shield him; he shouldn't love anyone at all, he chastised himself, much less his master and king. He wasn't anything to Oberon but a servant and...

Puck could feel himself heating up as he had thought of last night. Oberon's lips tasted like oak and dew and thunder, he felt like electricity and wind and rain and a hurricane when he would touch Puck. It wasn't the first time the king had called him to his chamber. There had been many times before, many times that Puck had felt those masculine hands touching him and those lips everywhere on him and oh god, even the thought was making him blush like mad. It was almost a ritual of sorts; Puck does Oberon's bidding, they fuck, and then the younger fairy is ignored for the next day or so until Oberon fancied him again.

"'Tis fitting a role for concubine," he said quietly to himself, his eyes wandering over the litter of the forest floor, the small wings he sometimes gave himself lifting him slightly off the ground. "Loveth he me only at some time." Concubine; that was a word that could describe him.

Puck looked up at the sky through the trees before spotting an old oak ahead of him; branches splayed, low-lying. A little burst of energy sprang through him and he jumped, his wings giving an excited flutter. His boyishness was accentuated when he got excited. He began to pull himself up the tree, summer-green eyes wide, still not distracted but at least not fixated on the badness of it all.

"His touch lay upon me like man toward man," he said, his wings pushing him up another few feet. "Stateth I my breasts are not that of woman, and complies he, most willingly..." Puck blinked a few times as he reached a higher branch, instinctively pressing an arm over his chest. It was a small chest, appearing prepubescent, but still he was self-conscious about it. At least Oberon doesn't touch you like a woman, he thought to himself, at least he calls you his handsome Puck, at least your sex doesn't seem to deter him from you...

To Oberon, Puck was the boy that he truly was. Maybe that was some form of love.

He reached the top of the tree and peered from the top branch around the forest. "Through the forest have I gone, but Athenian found I none..." His face fell slightly as he saw nobody; no movement was ahead of him. The young fairy pouted slightly and turned. “On whose eyes I might approve this flower’s force in stirring love…?” He let out a breath, blowing a bit of mist from his face. “Night and silence…”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when he saw him. A young mortal man—perhaps seventeen—lying upon the ground, curled up, partly undressed. Asleep. His blonde hair was the color of golden wheat and it filled Puck with enthusiasm at the sight of it. “Who is here?” The fairy boy bounded down from the branch upon which he stood. “Weeds of Athens he doth wear! This is he my master said despised the Athenian maid!”

Swift feet and fluttering wings propelled Puck to stand next to the sleeping youth. The flower slid within his grasp as he looked around, to see if the girl was near. Sure enough, his big green eyes spotted a young blonde woman curled on the ground a few feet away, wearing only undergarments. He gave a gentle smile as he began to approach.

“And here the maiden,” he murmured, “sleeping sound, on the…dank and dirty ground…” He shifted his feet on the dirt floor of the forest. This wasn’t fit for a young woman at all, he thought, as he looked back up at her with a gentle sigh. “Pretty soul…”

Don’t get distracted. Puck shook his head and turned back to the youth. “She durst not lie near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy!” The fairy crossed his arms and stood over the young man. How could he not even try to love a creature as beautiful as the girl lying near him?

Puck felt for her; he knew a lot about not being loved.

Within a breath Puck had thrown himself on top of the sleeping body of the boy, hovering over his eyes, gently anointing the flower’s nectar to his eyelids. “Churl, upon thine eyes I throw all the power this charm doth owe.” He shifted uncomfortably when the surface of one of his breasts brushed against the youth’s skin, and his skin heated aquamarine at the cheeks, but he was already finished spreading the juice and he slowly began to hover above the boy in the air. 

“When thou wakest,” Puck murmured, “let love forbid sleep his seat on thy eyelid. So awake when I am gone.”

The jades that were Puck’s eyes slowly traversed the path ahead of him until, in the distance of the mist-thick forest, he could see the outline of the fairy realm where Oberon would be asleep.

Whispered from Puck’s lips came, “For I must now to Oberon.”

Had anyone cared to look, they would not have seen Puck, but a flash of excited teal skin darting through the forest with the excitement and speed that exceeded the finest racehorse; a blur, a wind, a lovestruck illusion of the mist.


End file.
